They'll Drift No More
by CierraLuv97
Summary: For five years, Fred's life has been a nightmare.Not only have he and his friends being running from a devasting force, but he and the rest of the gang haven't seen Daphne for five years. One conversation could change everything, though. Everything.


_**Hi, guys. Cierra here. For those of you who haven't read my story **_**Keep Drifting**_**, I suggest you read it before reading this one. It'll make more sense. This is Keep Drifting from Fred's point of view. I don't think it's my best piece of work, but I hope you guys like it. It's also my first time writing from Fred's point of view.**_

_**And also, I'm proud to say that I have offically inspired someone. XxLadyStrengthxX's story **_**Dear Velma**_** originally was something I suggested, and I love the way she wrote it. And she quoted me in her story - awesome, right? You guys should read it. Which brings me to my next point: if anyone out there needs help with a story idea, or wants me to write something, tell me! It felt really cool seeing an idea I helped out with actually being written. I love to give advice. And if you have a story idea, but you don't want to write it, or are unsure how to, send me a PM. I could write the first paragraph or something and send it to you, to get you started. **_

_**Also, for those of you who read my work regularly, I gained a hit from Italy! I love Italy!**_

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I don't know why everyone thinks the sun stands for happiness. It doesn't. It stands for _irony_.

I am sitting in a dark room. There would be light, but the curtains are drawn for safety. More light could mean death for us.

Velma sits on the couch and watches dust on the ground. She looks different than she did five years ago. Her hair is long now, and waves gently. She traded her glasses for contacts. A disguise.

Shaggy lies on the ground and stares at the ceiling. His hair has been cut neat. His goatee is gone. But he's still a mess. We are all messes.

The dog has been gone for more years than I care to remember, but the hole the air makes around his body when he stood there is still there. It will never go away.

We have been hiding in this house for three years. The first two and a half were nightmares. We searched for hiding places desperately, from the army who was ordered to kill us, because we killed an old king's daughter. We didn't, but that's not what Jonathan Jacobo told the king. We hardly ate. For two horrifying weeks, Velma was sick and I had no hope of her making it out alive. She did, though she's been weaker ever since. She's not at all the strong girl who solved mysteries back in the good old days.

Then again, none of us are the same person we used to be.

Then we met the Mortons. Good, kind people. Timmy Morton saw we were running. He remembered his grandfathers stories of hiding from the Nazis. He hid us in his home. We have been here for three years.

Timmy's wife, Erin, was nervous at first. She was afraid that her family would be in danger. Eventually, she warmed up to us. We became family. She insisted at first we called her mom, but when she saw what it did to us, she gave up.

The Mortons have four children. Irene is twenty-two and only visits occasionally, with her husband Ken and daughter Robyn. They have been let in on the secret that is us, although Robyn is only two and too young to understand. She calls me "Uncle Fweddie". My heart aches whenever she does. Rosa is seventeen and for a few weeks, she had her eyes on Shaggy. When Shaggy didn't respond to her flirting, she gave up. Kelley is ten and is more serious about everything than Rosa is. Then comes Doug, who is four. When I see him in his mother's arms, I have to leave the room.

I would give up everything to be a little boy in my mother's arms again.

But my mother isn't my greatest wish, my greatest need. What I want more than anything is to walk through a fancy garden without fear, and knock on a solid oak door boldly. I want a stern, rich man to shake my hand with double meaning. I want his wife to ask about my mother. I want a slight red-head to see me from her window, run flying down the stairs, leap into my arms. I want to live in that moment for all of eternity.

I haven't seen that red-head for five years. 1,825 days. 43,800 hours. 26,280,000 minutes. 157,680,000 seconds. Each second ticks by like a dull bruise that cannot fade.

That night had been raining. Rain doesn't stand for sadness. It stands for desperation, for hopeless quests. Daphne would have protested it stands for romance, and then she would have show me why the next time it rained, and I would stay up late at night holding onto that moment.

We'd huddled in the wildness and slept in the mud, but things had been better then. We had all been together. Daphne had smiled and laughed. After all, a mangled smile is still a smile. A bleeding laugh is still a laugh. In times of need, you have to take what you can get.

And then we'd heard them and we'd been running. North, south - the direction didn't matter, as long as it was away. I remember thinking about how badly hurt my pride was, that we lived like rats who no one wanted.

But then it was uphill and the rain slicking back the grass and streaming against us. And as we breathed heavily, panting, running because we knew we had to, Daphne had shrieked, her feet slipping on the wet ground, her body tumbling down the hill. I'd started to run to help her up, but Velma had whispered, "They're coming." I had realized I was supposed to change my mind because of what she said but I didn't. Velma saw it, too. She crash-tackled me to the ground, pulling me behind a rock. I'd been too weak with hunger and with shock to resist.

I waited for their cry of surprise, of discovery. I waited for the gunshot that would surely ring out. I waited for the pain that no bullet can bring you directly, but can leave a ripping, pulsing hole in you when they hit someone else.

The sound never came. The men marched away. They had lost our trail.

We came back the next day, when we thought we were safe. We weren't sure that we were safe. We weren't sure of anything. The only thing we were sure of was that life was made up of uncertanties. We became even more sure of that when we went back to find Daphne.

She wasn't there. The grass held no clue of where she could have possibly gone.

For four years, we had no idea what happened to her. Everytime that Velma had tried to suggest, quietly, that she could have died, I shushed her with more vemon than nessacery. She's couldn't be dead. For four years, Daphne had a hole in the air, just like Scooby Doo. Only hers was flashing neon and screaming and I knew I would never be able to forget it for a single moment.

But things changed when Timmy brought home an article. The cover story: Daphne Blake's mysterious case of amnesia. Ever since she was found unconscious and bone-thin in the woods on the border of Canada and the United States, she's been unable to remember anything that's ever happened to her. When I read it, I felt like I was able to let go of so many worries. Daphne's hole in the air faded to just a small ache. I miss her, but I would rather her be away from me and safe than with me and in danger.

This what I am thinking about when the doorbell rings. I sigh, and hurry upstairs. We stay out of sight when people come to visit the Mortons. It makes me feel like an outlaw, but then I remind myself that I am. The king who wanted us dead because we supposedly killed his daughter outlawed us. Shaggy and Velma follow silently.

"Um, they don't live here. They, like, disappeared five years ago or something." I hear Rosa answer the door, and she sounds nervous. Her voice is noticeably higher than usual. I then know we have been found.

I still feel dead inside, though.

"Well, I don't care if you're the king!" She suddenly shouts. "Listen, whatever you think, Mystery Incorporated does not live here. It's just me and my parents and my brother and sister."

A man answers. I can't hear his exact words, but his voice is assuring her of something. Rosa doesn't say anything. I wish my heart was beating with adrenaline and fear. I wish my mind was desperately trying to think of a plan. I wish Daphne was grasping my arm, her breath coming much too quick.

I know Rosa wishes she could call her parents, but they're out. Everyone is out. Kelley went to her friend's house, Erin is at school teaching her classes, Doug is at day-care and Timmy is at work. Rosa is alone, and she is scared.

After a moment, she calls, "Freddie?" I don't swallow. My eyes do not widen in fear. I just nod, get up, and walk down stairs.

An old man is standing in the doorway. Behind him, I can see a limo. Two men in suits stand by the limo, watching the old man. This must be the king that has ruined our lives.

"Frederick Jones?" he asks. I nod warily. I have learned to suspect many and suspect few.

"I am here to apologize," The old king says.

I must not have heard him right. "What?"

"Jonathan Jacobo killed my daughter," The old man says. He takes a slow, deep breath. "I'm sorry I believed him when he said it was you."

"Yeah, I am too." I don't know what makes me say that, but it might have something to do with our years of being outlawed, of having to disappear.

The old man is watching me. After a moment, he says, "You have lost much because of me, that's true. And I deeply regret it. I am prepared to give you a reasonable sum of money for your troubles."

I don't want money. "It was more than some troubles, sir." It is only habit that makes me say sir.

"I know. If you want, I will fly you to Daphne." His eyebrows raise, waiting for my answer.

My heart stutters like I wished it would. "What do you know about Daphne?"

"I know that she's living in New Mexico and working as a teacher at the elementary school. I know that she still suffers from amnesia and can't remember a single event in her life, but is as smart as the average thirty-three year old, if not smarter. I know she hasn't married and is living alone. I know that her friend Gabriella says she thinks Daphne is too sad to not remember anything. "

The king was suggesting that Daphne still remembered. I don't know what I think about that. "Sir, I don't know if I can trust you."

"It is your choice." The king shruggs

I think about that. He wasn't telling me to trust him. He was telling me I could trust him if I wanted to.

I could go home. I could see my parents. I could walk in Coolsville again.

I could fly to New Mexico. See Daphne. See if she might, just maybe, remember.

"We'll go," I hear myself say.

Daphne's hole in the air isn't back like I thought it would, and I realize why. It's because she hasn't left us. We left her. It's our job to go back and find her again.

Everything I've ever wanted - my parents, my town, Daphne - is floating out of reach. This man has given me the liberty to pull them down. They're drifting away. It's my turn to grab them before they disappear completely. They'll drift no more, if it's the last thing I do. They'll drift no more.


End file.
